


Twist The Knife And Bleed My Aching Heart

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Angelic Grace, Angst, Bloodplay, Danger, Dominant/Top Dean, Hand Jobs, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Knifeplay, M/M, Painplay, Submissive/Bottom Castiel, Trust, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust is a double edged sword but sometimes the wounds it inflicts proves it is still there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist The Knife And Bleed My Aching Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt " Dean/Cas ~~or Sam/Cas~~ : consensual knife play with Cas's angel sword. Both of them get off on the fact that it's the one thing that can kill Cas, and the trust involved in allowing Dean ~~or Sam~~ to use it on him." at the [Let Your Kink Flag Fly](http://riyku.livejournal.com/44384.html) kink meme on LJ.
> 
> Title taken from #1 Crush by Garbage. Used for the 'Danger' square on my [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card.

The first cut is always the most shocking. It’s almost as if Dean doesn’t expect him to bleed just like a human would, to gasp and wince at the pain like a human would. The light that glows from the cut reminds Dean that he is anything but human. Cas is powerful, he’s nigh on invincible, he can heal any wound...except for these ones. Dean holds the only instrument that can kill Cas in his hands. If he were to press to hard, cut to deep, if his hand were to slip, that would be it. But his hand will never slip, he would never let it.

The blade is long and lacks the precision of a scalpel or a dagger; it’s harder to control because he can’t hold it close to Cas’ skin but it’s sharp, so much sharper than any blade forged by mortal hands could hope to be. The barest touch and blood and light come seeping to the surface. Even the lightest cut seems impossibly deep but Dean knows that’s a trick of the light, literally, it’s Cas’ grace casting shadows in the wound. Cas can take much more before he’s really hurt.

Dean stares at his work, the first few cuts. He’d gotten worse scrapes from bar fights but none as beautiful. Cas looks up at him, confused eyes silently asking him why he’s stopped and there’s just as much beauty there, in the implicit trust that Cas has for him. It’s the trust that makes this possible, stops Cas from being a victim. He asks for it, the way that other people ask for sex, nervously and with trepidation and the fear of rejection but fuelled by need all the same. Cas needs this, every so often and Dean’s come to need it to, especially the responsibility that’s placed in his hands. He needs to know that Cas relies on him. He needs to know he can be trusted still, after everything.

He presses on, pressing down, taking in the little cry that comes from Cas’ mouth and the sweat beading on his skin. He’d never ask what Cas gets out of this, apart from the obvious. Somewhere he knows what it is, like with so many of his kind, he needs to give up control, have someone else hold all the cards for once. He’d never ask but he suspects that each moment, when the blade presses in, there’s a second where Cas wonders if the cut will be too deep, if it will kill him. Dean knew from way too much experience that it was a heady feeling when at the end of that held breath, you’re still breathing.

Dean drags the blade down, from Cas’ collarbone to his navel. If he’d cut much deeper, Dean suspected he’d see the borrowed heart skip a beat in Cas’ chest. If he’d had the mind, it could have easily been fatal. But it’s only a scratch. Dean doubts it will even scar and for a moment he’s disappointed, perhaps Cas is too because he’s looking for more, his eyes seeking it out.

Dean brings the blade back up. This was the ace in the pack, the last hurrah, the end of their show and Cas bears his neck under the shining silver like a pack animal submitting. Cas swallows and his Adam’s apple grazes the blade. Dean knows he’s not breathing, not that he needs to anyway. The tension is almost palpable and Dean has to make his move because his hands are starting to shake.

Dean reaches for Cas’ cock and it twitches with the lightest touch of his fingers, unable to keep still like the rest of his body. Another moment of trust, that Dean will give him what he needs and not deny him, humiliate him. Dean wasn’t sure he’d have Cas’ courage if the tables were turned and it was his deepest, most unspoken desires laid bare like this. But he could borrow a bit of Cas’ bravery and admit, by taking him fully in hand, that he liked his part in all this. 

Dean presses the blade down, into the skin of Cas’ throat, enough to bead blood and to hurt like a son of a bitch but not enough to kill. It’s such a fine line. A line that Cas pushes as Dean pushes him closer and closer, the build up and the anticipation working better than any foreplay and it’s nothing at all before Cas is spilling over his hand, over his own chest, rising up against the metal despite the danger until Dean has to pull it away and save Cas from slitting his own throat as he rides out the release.

Dean’s release won’t come until later, until he’s bathed each wound and stitched up the ones that needed closing. He won’t come until he’s sure Castiel is ok, until he’s sure the trust between them is still there, strong and unspoken, like everything else that goes between them.

**Author's Note:**

> As of 01/01/18, I'm opting to disable comments. [More information here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13077201).


End file.
